


Vulnerabilis

by janetcarter



Category: The Order (TV 2019)
Genre: Alcohol, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Past Child Death, Post-Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24929836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janetcarter/pseuds/janetcarter
Summary: The last time Vera felt this helpless was when her daughter turned blue.
Relationships: Hamish Duke/Vera Stone
Comments: 18
Kudos: 98
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Vulnerabilis

**Author's Note:**

> For the Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt "Cry into Chest."

The drink Hamish had made her drenched the books scattered on her desk, blood-red rewriting spells she couldn't perform.

"Restituo!" Vera snapped. A flick of her hand did nothing to mend the soaked papers or bubble the wine back into its glass or set the cup back upright. The only thing she could do was overdue damage control, moving the remaining books away from the poisonous puddle sprawling across the wood. "Dammit..."

"Vera?" Hamish's voice asked. She couldn't say she was glad for him to see her mistake, but if it had to be anyone's footsteps approaching…

"Fix it." She meant it as a demand, but it came out more as a strangled plea. Today was not the day for this. "Now."

He said the spell and, of course, it worked for him where it'd failed for her. Her desk was back in order and the wine she'd barely gotten to drink was back in the glass; that is, until she downed it in one go.

"Are you… okay?"

Instead of answering him, she pushed the empty glass into his chest.

"I see," he said. And with that, he left to get her more.

She set her head down in her hands, took a deep breath, and tried not to completely lose her mind. Magic had brought her back from the brink after her daughter's death. And now her link to it was gone, vanished, fizzled away like she hadn't devoted decades to harnessing its potential. Life was far from fair, but this was pushing it.

The gentle tap of a new glass against her desk made her realize how long she'd been sitting like that. Or maybe Hamish had hurried--as much as he could without jeopardizing his craft, anyway. It didn't matter. She was just relieved she could keep drinking the day away.

"Please," he said, kneeling beside her chair like the knight he was. "Talk to me."

She finally, after a gulp of wine stung her throat, asked, "What's there to talk about?" 

"You're drinking a Rosy Tannin."

"So?"

"You never order it unless something is seriously wrong--which is saying a lot, considering what you deal with every day."

"Even if something was wrong--which it _isn't_ \--it doesn't concern you."

When his hand kept her from lifting the glass again, she thought she might kill him. But the worry in his eyes made her glare shrink away.

"Vera, if we're going to be a team, I need you to be honest with me. I need you to trust me."

She almost laughed. "Trust isn't going to fix the past."

"Maybe not, but let me shoulder its burden with you."

It wasn't a burden she deserved to have lessened, but his determination made her decide she was tipsy enough to spill a drop of tragic backstory. At the very least, it might make him regret asking enough to prevent any pseudo-therapy sessions in the future.

She took a deep breath, and another sip of alcohol. The way he mixed the drink didn't quite soften the acidity, but coaxed it out into something new.

"Okay." She did her best to separate the words themselves from the pain digging its thorny roots into her chest. Autopilot was the only way she would get through the statement in one piece. "Someone very close to me died a very long time ago. Today is the anniversary of that day."

"I'm sorry," he replied softly.

"It wasn't your fault," she said, and the next part slipped out before she could seal her lips. "It was mine."

"You can't blame yourself for--"

"My daughter died because of me, Hamish. That is something I have to live with every day of my life." Her voice was trembling as it betrayed her. "I owe it to her to be honest with myself about what happened."

Hamish was, quite understandably, at a loss for words. And it was the one thing in this situation she wasn't sorry about.

He took her hand into his, and she tried not to sink into the comfort of someone else's fingers curled between her own. "I had no idea."

"Of course you didn't." He was too polite for his own good, never asked about the faint stretch marks clawing into her stomach, white, jagged reminders she couldn't bear to part with. He had to have expected _something_ when kissing undeserving skin that wasn't as firm as it should've been.

He took a deep breath. "I didn't… know if you wanted to talk about it."

"Well, it's not like I wear a sign on my forehead saying 'I had a daughter when I was sixteen and I failed her so fucking badly she--she stopped breathing.'" When her voice crumbled, she knew the tears were just waiting to make their entrance. 

And they did so sooner than she thought, because before she knew it Hamish's arms were wrapped around her. He had that way about him where he made her feel so fragile but so protected, even though she didn't need protecting.

Or well, she hadn't until she lost her magic.

At least with her face against his chest he couldn't see her crying. The first tear had dragged every memory down along with it: the terror of that first missed period, the comfort of feeling her baby's first flutters, the sheer joy of seeing that scrunched up little face for the first time…

And then that same face turned blue and lifeless in a coffin that was much too small. "I haven't felt this helpless since she…"

He hugged her tighter, giving her the unfamiliar safety to fall apart in hands that promised to piece her back together.

"We'll figure it out," he said, breath warm against her neck. "You're not alone, Vera. Not anymore."

She didn't have the strength to argue, and right now, as her face rested against his chest… she wasn't sure she wanted to. So she stayed silent as he stroked her hair. She stayed silent as her tears drenched his shirt like alcohol soaked spellbooks. She stayed silent, apart from her body's involuntary sobs, as they gently rocked in her chair.

She'd regret this as soon as she was sober enough to remember crying in his arms like a helpless child. But for now, she'd let it happen. She'd let him comfort her, _love_ her, even, before it fully sank in that no matter how much she deserved to be alone, she couldn't afford to be--not anymore. 

And maybe that wasn't the end of the world.


End file.
